


if you read between the lines

by parcequelle



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: Assorted Brenda/Sharon ficlets, added as written.





	1. if you read between the lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/gifts).



> Inspired by sarken's commentary on a Tumblr post.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a month, they still aren't used to it.

After a month, they still aren’t used to it, but they’ve certainly gotten better at blocking it out: the stray thoughts, the wild pangs of emotion, the cravings for Merlot and chocolate (Brenda) or broccoli (Sharon) (what on Earth) that hit at unexpected moments. They’ve both developed rudimentary techniques to help keep themselves and each other sane, and they usually succeed at it - Sharon tries her best to shut the gate on her thoughts about boring paperwork; Brenda slams up a wall when she’s interrogating a suspect - but the one place they still haven’t managed to successfully stop things ... leaking through is in the bedroom.

It’s all Brenda’s fault.

Well, maybe not always, but it’s definitely her fault this time.

Brenda has her pressed back against the pillows - her strong, slender hands splayed against Sharon’s hips, her wicked, terrible tongue doing its best to challenge Sharon’s tendency to climax quietly - when Brenda’s wandering hand scratches three nails across her breast and then down the hyper-sensitive expanse of skin on her stomach and Sharon forgets, just for a moment, to block.

‘Oh, God,’ she gasps, as she is hit from both sides by the combined onslaught of her own lust and Brenda’s, and the sensation makes her head spin and her blood rush. She reaches out blindly to grab at Brenda’s mussed-up hair, to keep her head where it is, when Brenda’s wicked, terrible tongue does the most wicked, terrible thing it can do, and stops. ‘Brenda,’ she rasps, ‘what—’

But she has lifted her head, her lips glistening and red, and she is glaring at Sharon. ‘Are you serious?’

It takes Sharon a moment to understand the question. ‘What?’

‘Are you seriously makin’ a grocery list in your head while we’re having sex?’ Brenda nips her on the thigh. ‘And don’t even think about lyin’, I’ll know!’

‘I...’ Sharon is still reeling a little from her so-close-but-not-quite orgasm, and she manages, ‘I was just...’

‘What?’

‘Multitasking!’ Sharon exclaims. Her mind is still exposed, and she feels Brenda’s answering belief immediately. ‘You know how hard it is to get things done when you have to devote half your mental energy to blocking out someone else’s thoughts.’

Brenda huffs. ‘Still don’t see why you had to pick now.’

‘Because I was...’ but Sharon isn’t going to say that out loud, so instead she just sends Brenda (a little forcefully than she needs to) a collage of images, feelings, sensations that make her point: that she was floating, peaceful, in a state of complete trust; that she was raw and unguarded, and those are sometimes the only moments when she can think about such mundane things. The rest of the time, she’s trying to find ways to get work done when Brenda is ten feet away, thinking about sending Pope off on some made-up errand and then going down on her on his desk.

She finishes it off with a glare which only threatens to let up when Brenda’s expression softens and she says, ‘I didn’t know it was like that.’

‘Well,’ Sharon sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Now you do.’

Brenda wriggles up her body, spreads herself across Sharon like a blanket, and kisses her. When she pulls back, she’s grinning, and she licks her way back down to between Sharon’s legs, sends her a particularly stimulating thought about just how long she’s going to take to finish. 

She licks her lips and lowers her head, then: ‘Don’t forget Ding Dongs,’ she says, and gets back to work.


	2. Cotton Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The colour of adultery is pink.

It may all have once been black and white to her, but when it matters, the colour of adultery is pink. It’s pink when Sharon’s blush is the reason Brenda’s eyes grow dark, is the thing that propels her forward into the last of Sharon’s space, drawl thick and sweet and slow as raspberry jam. It’s pink when Brenda’s lipstick paints the hollow of Sharon’s collarbone and later, after she’s gone, Sharon feels her muscles expand and contract and pull as she works to scrub it off her skin. It’s pink when Sharon’s trembling fingers flitter up from Brenda’s shoulders to her neck to the zip in her cotton candy dress. It’s pink when Brenda throws her head back, cries caught on her tongue, and the delicate skin of her chest is dappled, heated.

It isn't right, Sharon thinks, as Brenda sleeps soundly beside her; it isn't right that this encounter should manifest itself as the colour of marshmallows and cherry blossoms and innocence. But it does, and as Brenda stirs and slides her hand across Sharon’s ribcage, gripping tight even in sleep, Sharon knows that it’s too late for it to matter.


End file.
